


Rest

by CarolPeletier



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolPeletier/pseuds/CarolPeletier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol goes looking for Daryl after Alexandria falls. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest

Disclaimer:  I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

Rest

The air was thick with black smoke that curled upward into the night sky as Alexandria burned.  She squinted through the dust as the beam from her flashlight bounced off the debris.  She coughed, breathing through the cloth she held to her face to keep the dust out of her lungs.  Screams as the dead ate the living shook her to her core.  There was no helping them.  They were dead.  But he was out there somewhere beyond the gates.  If she couldn’t help them, she could help him.

She shrugged the strap of her rifle up her shoulder, stepping out through the gate.  A steady stream of walkers were coming at her, but she managed to slink away and into the trees fairly easily, as the dead turned their attention back to the smoldering town where the living were now dying or fighting like hell to survive.  They were all but gone, fallen, her friends and family.  She’d stopped looking back when she’d seen Rick’s broken body fallen over Michonne’s in a final act of bravery.  They were both gone, and she’d shot them both between the eyes.

The leaves crunched under her boots as she made her way through the wasteland that had been the wolves’ camp.  Walkers strung up on tree branches snarled and flexed their stiff fingers, groaning and biting at air.  She kept her eyes open and fixed on the sight of a walker bent over one of the half-dead Wolves, pulling clumps of flesh and muscle from his leg and devouring it. The man’s screams had long ago turned to whimpers and moans as the fight left his body.   She could have stopped it, could have put an end to it, but she kept walking. 

She made her way to the far side of the camp, where the Wolves’ defense from walkers in the woods had been to tie living people to the trees facing the dark woods.  Their screams as they were eaten had served to alert the Wolves. 

Carol’s stomach turned as she saw body after body with their throats torn out or with limbs gone or just barely hanging on.  Some were still alive, but there was no help for them.  She quickly put them out of their misery with a knife to the skull.

She bit the inside of her lip, worrying it between her teeth until she tasted copper.  She wiped her blade on the shirt of a Wolf and kept walking. 

Each tree she came to, she searched for his face, for any sign of him, but he wasn’t there.  She was growing tired as the screams from Alexandria began to fade away, until the only sounds she could hear were of walkers in the distance, of brief explosions as the fire swept through Alexandria, burning their once safe haven to nothing but ash and embers. 

And then she saw him slumped against the base of a large oak, vest laid open, shallow cuts and painful gashes on his chest, no doubt caused by a Wolf knife.  His chest rose and fell in quick gasps, and as she shined her light on his face, she saw one eye swollen shut, a cut on his lip, blood running down his chin and neck and mingling with the cuts on his chest.  His arms were tied with a separate rope, and even in his weakened state, he still tried to break them. 

“Daryl,” she whispered, kneeling before him in front of the tree, her throat tight as she fought back a sob.  She reached out, pushing his hair out of his face.  He blinked his good eye and tried to focus on her.  His mouth hung open as he struggled for breath.  “Daryl, it’s me.”  He groaned, slumping forward again, and Carol made quick work of cutting his ropes.  She released his arms first and then cut the rope around his chest, and he quickly fell forward.  She gently cradled him under the arms and brought him to lay down and rest his head in her lap.  He rolled slightly, facing her stomach, and he groaned, hand clutching at her shirt as the other one found her hand.  She linked her fingers with his, squeezing them to let him know she had him.

“Carol?” he asked, coughing as she ran her hand through his messy hair.

“It’s me.  I’m here,” she promised.   She leaned her head back against the tree and let the tears fall then.  She would only allow herself a few moments of vulnerability, because she knew she had to get him out of here. She had to get the both of them to safety.  “Daryl.  Are you bit?”

“No,” he panted, his breath hot against her, soaking through her shirt and warming her already sweat-damp flesh.  “I’ll be ok.”

“They’re dead.”

“Every last one of the bastards, I hope,” he groaned, struggling to sit up.

“Not just them,” she whimpered, lip trembling as she fought to keep her emotions in check.  “Rick’s dead.  Michonne.  I didn’t see much, but them….I saw them.”  He said nothing then.  He fell silent for a while, and the sound of gunfire erupted only to fizzle out within moments.  Screams followed.  A baby cried somewhere in the distance and was soon silenced. 

Carol bit her lip and choked back a sob.  She felt his head grow heavy in her lap, and she stroked her fingers through his hair.

“Daryl?” she whispered.  “Are you with me?”

“M’here,” he murmured.  “Just so tired.”

“Rest now,” she whispered.  “Just for a few minutes.  And then we have to run.”

“Carol,” he murmured, lifting his head to try and meet her eyes.  She pushed his hair out of his face, feeling something warm and wet there.  Blood.  She’d have to patch him up in the morning.  “I…didn’t think I’d make it.”

“Shh,” she soothed.

“I love you,” he panted, gripping her hand tighter as a burst of warmth spread through her chest, despite the fear that raged there.  She sniffled then, squeezing his hand.  “Should’a told you before.”

“I know.  It’s ok,” she whispered, leaning forward, pressing her lips to his forehead.  “I love you, too.”  He sighed softly, collapsing against her stomach again, and she continued running her fingers through his hair.  They would be running soon and fighting for their lives.  But for now, for that moment, they could rest.  All they had left was each other. 


End file.
